Page 59 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

He was quiet for a moment, watching the road. "You familiar with the Scottish accent? Had any practice?"

"Some. Years ago, for a rescue in Glasgow. One of my girls needed an escort across the border."

"Let me hear it."

Florence cleared her throat and attempted the accent she'd used years before. "Aye, an' whit's it tae ye, ye great daft lummox?"

Matthew pressed his lips together. His nostrils flared with a sharp exhale, laughter strangled.

"That bad?" she asked.

He made a small sound in his throat. The sound of a man swallowing a laugh before it could escape.

"You sound like an English duchess who's had a wee bit too much whisky and is trying to order haggis."

"I do not."

"You do. You're rolling your R's like you're gargling."

"Well, that’s what they sound like to me. Gargling."

"And 'lummox' isn't Scottish, it's just... odd."

She huffed. "Well, what should I say then? Teach me, since you're such an expert."

He shifted the reins to one hand and scratched his jaw. "First, stop trying so hard. You're putting the accent on like a costume. It's got to come from the back of your throat, not the front of your mouth."

"That makes no sense whatsoever."

"Aye, well, that's the point, isn't it?" His voice had shifted. Rougher, the vowels flattened, the cadence different. Natural. Like slipping into a second skin. "Ye dinnae think about it. Ye just let it happen."

Florence stared at him. "You're Scottish."

"Half." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Point is, I know how it should sound, and you sound like you learned it from a stage play."

"I practically did. One of my girls was an actress before… Never mind. Just teach me properly."

For the next hour, he drilled her. Simple phrases first—aye and nae and whit and wee. Then longer sentences, correcting her vowels, her rhythm, the way she clipped certain consonants.

"Softer," he said after she attempted I dinnae ken whit ye mean. "You're hitting the words too hard. Like you're angry at them."

"I am angry at them. They're not cooperating."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Again."

She tried again. And again. By the second hour, or third, something clicked. The rhythm settled into her tongue, the sounds flowed instead of stumbling.

"Better," he admitted. "You might pass. In the dark. If no one listens too closely."

"High praise indeed."

"I'm a generous man."

She laughed, bright and unguarded.

He winced. "That's got to go."

"What?"